A Post Nuclear Journal
by D.M. LaCroix
Summary: Follow the thoughts and opinions of the Vault Dweller as he traverses the hostile wasteland that was once Southern California, hoping to save his home and stop the encroaching mutant army lead by a revolting horror. Fallout 1 novelization.
1. Entry 1

June 7, 2161

Lady Luck can be a real bitch at times. Vault 13's water chip malfunctioned, and I was the lucky bastard that drew the short straw and got thrown out to go find a replacement. I find myself wondering why they thought sending me out was the best of plans, short straw be damned. I'm a doctor, my job is to treat the sick and injured. I don't know the first thing about how to traverse a radioactive desert, yet they still gave me a half-assed crash course on outdoorsman skills, handed me an equipment belt and a lousy pistol, and tossed me out on my ass. Having a small time frame to work in doesn't make me feel better. I've got roughly one hundred fifty days before the stored water supplies are deplenished, and as of this writing four days have already passed.

I didn't know how to react to any of that at the time, it was so damn sudden and out of the blue. I still don't know what to make of all this. When I first stepped out of the vault and into the cave - my friend Ed, he was slouched up against the wall, eaten alive by the large cave rats in there. When had he even been sent out? I remember having a drink with him that morning, before all the bullshit with the water chip started. I felt awful stripping his corpse of anything useful, like I was adding to his humiliation. Worst of it is that his wife probably doesn't even know what happened.

First few days of travel were pretty brutal. I'm not in the best of shape and the terrain is very rocky and rough out there; did a real punishment on my back and feet. That scorching bastard in the sky heating things up to boiling point didn't do much to help the situation; fucked the back of my neck right up. Can't even turn my head without the blistered skin flaring up. Nighttime out here is something else. The cold winds'll bring you to your knees and - if you don't have a scarf or something to cover your face with - blow the wasteland dust right into your lungs. Every breath you take feels agonizing, as if somebody is repeatedly scrubbing the inside of your chest with a piece of sandpaper.

On my third day out on the field I met my first signs of life: a small trader caravan, a group of three people. They told me about a small farming community about forty miles to the east, Shady Sands they called it. They were kind enough to let me tag along with them but - as was expected - dumped me as soon as we came to the town entrance the next evening.

The town - if you want to call it that - was small and boxed in, with all the huts built close together and a wall - probably about ten feet high - served as a poor defense against possible invaders. It made me think about just how damned hostile the outside world is. If the weather and terrain don't bring you down, some filthy piece of shit running around the desert sure as hell will.

A leathery skinned man called Seth called me over and gave me a quick rundown on the rules here: what's tolerated and what's not, who's who and where to find them, where to crash for the night and where to trade; the usual shit, stuff he's probably said hundreds of times by now. Judging from his broad physique and the old rifle resting on his shoulder, I'm guessing he's the one in charge of defending the place.

I came upon a small garden on my way towards the hostel. It was a sad old thing, with withering crops hanging over and being choked by the rock-solid earth. The malnourished farmer overseeing the crops had told me to beat it, scared that I might trample on one by accident, I suppose. I asked why he wasn't utilizing crop rotation, to preserve both their crops and the nutrients in the earth as well as to improve the quality of the soil. Poor bastard was too ignorant to even know what I was talking about and I had to explain it multiple times before he finally got the gist of it. He gave me a handful of dirty bottle caps - apparently the currency out here in the wasteland - and then got back to work. Hope it works out for him but if society has become so broken that it cannot even remember the basics of farming, I worry that any risen community won't last for the long-term.

The small hostel I'm staying at is - quite frankly - of very poor quality. For instance, the very room I'm writing this in has a hole the size of a baseball in the corner of the roof, letting the winds from outside rush in and freeze me to death. At least it feels soothing against the blisters on my neck and feet. The bed is ancient, creaking loudly whenever I adjust my position and the rusty springs are gouging into my backside. Still, I guess I shouldn't complain too much. Miserable as this little cubby is, it's like sleeping in a luxurious bedroom fit for a king after having spent the past few nights resting - or trying to rest - out on the cold hard ground with the dust clogging my throat.

Tomorrow I plan to make my way further eastwards. Before tossing me out on my ass those fools at the vault had informed me of another shelter - Vault 15 - far to the east and that it may possibly have a spare water chip. It's the only lead I have to go on for the time being. I just hope I can survive long enough to get there. Life outside the vault has been more of a hell than I'd imagined.

I no longer have the energy to continue writing for the day. I need sleep. Albert Cole signing off.


	2. Entry 2

June 8, 2161

I've always been a man who favors learning things slowly. Go in clear-headed, pace yourself to match your limits, you get the idea. Seems the wasteland disagrees with that fine philosophy, and thought it'd be fun to throw as much shit in my face as possible in a single day; show me the ropes the fast and hard way, I guess. It certainly made damn sure I understood the danger of what's called a "Radscorpion".

When morning came around I was starving. My foul mood only intensified when I was told only locals of the town were allowed access to the food. I can understand their reasoning for it, life's tough and you've got to take care of your own before strangers. Still didn't keep an angry sneer from twisting across my face. I took a seat at a splintered table in the back and took out one of the nasty-ass nutrient bars I'd been given at the vault.

During that time a man with a food tray took the seat across from me - short, stocky guy with long hair and a leather jacket. He introduced himself as Ian, said he noticed I was an outsider and was wondering if I had had any good adventures out on the wastes to share. He seemed like a nice enough sort; hell, he's the first person I met in this town to actually show some courtesy. So, I thought "what the hell" and told him about the troubles over at Vault 13. Had it not been for the vault jumpsuit I'm wearing I doubt he would have believed a word of it. Still, he's an alright guy; doesn't talk much but he's very knowledgeable. Told me he used to work as security for a caravan group - Crimson Caravan if I recall correctly - before he left to do some freelance merc work. Said he was shot by a raider a few years later and found his way here to Shady Sands where he eventually took up another security job. Looks like life came full circle for him.

He pointed out a few interesting locations on my Pipboy map: Junktown, a town a good ways south of Shady Sands; the Khans hideout, a raider camp that's been causing some trouble around here; and another town called The Hub, which he described as the main trading center of the wasteland.

We made smalltalk while we finished up our meals. He mentioned a job he and his security crew were going on later and offered to let me tag along, saying they could use an extra gun. I don't have much - no, scratch that - I don't have any combat experience and I'm not that good of a shot so I'd been willing decline at first. But he said the reward would be fifty caps. It sounded like pretty good pay and I had plenty of time to spare, so I thought "Fuck it" and took the job.

Ian lead me out of the hostel and down to an old storage shed made of rusted sheet metal. Other men were inside inspecting old weapons, packing supplies and whatnot. Ian slid a wooden lockbox my way with his foot, telling me to take what I needed from it and load up. Wasn't too much of use in it, but I did salvage a couple of ammo clips and a few pieces of leather armor with a shoulder guard to strap on.

I noticed Seth - guess he was the security leader here after all - leaning back on a bench in the back of the shed, taking a long drag on a bent smoke with his eyes closed, like he was just waiting for something big to go down. That reminded me that I still didn't even know what this job was all about and I told Ian as much. He told me we'd be going a few miles out to a cave home to a nest of what he called "Radscorpions". Said they'd been preying on the town's brahmin and had even poisoned Seth's little brother Jarvis. Our job was to kill them and bring back some venom samples so that someone he called "Old Doc Razlo" could study it and learn what was needed to manufacture an antidote for it.

We left Shady Sands about an hour later and spent most of the trek to the cave in silence except for the occasional smalltalk amongst the group. The guys didn't even look my way except for Ian who asked a few brief questions about the vault, and Seth who gave me a quick "Thanks" for tagging along. Really wary of strangers, these folks are.

It must've been around, say, 3:00 PM when we finally came to the cave. The sunlight didn't shine too far in so we had to rely on a few torches to get some good lighting, and my Pipboy's flashlight came in handy too. The passage was linear but very narrow, not allowing much room for maneuvering. Not having much wasteland experience under my belt, I had already began feeling paranoid, flinching occasionally at the quick flickers our shadows made on the environment. I'm just glad no one in the group noticed.

About ten minutes into the cave we came upon our first small group of radscorpions, four in total. They were ugly little bastards but their carapace looked rock-solid; I briefly wondered if my lousy pea shooter could even penetrate their shells. My thoughts were interrupted when Seth wordlessly raised his rifle and took aim, its crack like a bolt of lightning as the bullet flew into the brain of the nearest radscorpion and tore it apart with a nasty slushiness. The other men in the group had already began firing on the other scorpions and had killed them all before I'd even drawn my own gun. Guess their shells weren't as durable as I thought. Seth took out an old rusty knife and began slicing into the tail of one of the radscorpions; after the venom sample, I assumed. Damned if I know the anatomy of these things.

Of course, there were worse problems than me not getting any of the glory of battle. Our vision had been limited but our hearing hadn't been; further back into the cave we could hear the clatters and taps of more radscorpions as they were scurrying to the source of the noise, clamping their pincers in anticipation for the kill. Seth had finished his work and motioned for us to run back the way we had come from. To my left I noticed Ian held a stick of dynamite in his grip. Smart thinking - kill a few to get the venom sample and then blow the cave in, trapping the rest of the little fuckers inside.

I reached the cave entrance before anyone else, no doubt thanks to my cowardice and pumping adrenaline propelling me to get the hell out of there like it was the coming of the devil. The others reached it moments later and focused their aim over Ian to cover him while he set the dynamite. The last thing I remember from today's excursion is turning around to the outside at the sound of a familiar clatter and then firing off every round in my pistol before being lanced in the side and having a white, burning pain arc up my body, only to blackout moments later.

And that is all. I woke up on an old mattress in Doc Razlo's house back in Shady Sands hours later; must've been about 9:00 PM, I reckon. Ian stopped by when he heard that I'd awoken and explained what had happened. To here him tell it, a lone radscorpion had been returning to the cave around the time we were leaving and pounced on me. At least I managed to kill the little bastard, though Ian informed me that I had been poisoned by it.

Razlo tells me that the antidote has taken effect and I've nothing to worry about, but it's like I can still feel the venom flowing through my veins and burning them.

I can write no more for tonight. Anitdote is making me feel drowsy and I really need the rest for tomorrow. I still need to go investigate Vault 15. Ian has requested to come with me for the sake of adventure and action, to hear him put it. I accepted - of course - for his talents will be useful to me while traveling out here. He has told me of a woman here named Katrina who supposedly came from Vault 15. I will speak with her tomorrow.

Albert Cole signing off.


End file.
